


Morning Coffee

by alchimie



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Season 9 Spoilers, mildly angsty
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-17
Updated: 2014-06-17
Packaged: 2018-02-05 02:28:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,982
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1802035
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alchimie/pseuds/alchimie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Compared to Sam’s usual schedule of having to constantly keep the world from falling apart, everything as of late seems tame, and for once in his life, the human acts as if this is a bad thing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Morning Coffee

**Author's Note:**

> I'm pretty excited to have sat my butt down and written something after so long. This is my first attempt at writing anything in the Supernatural fandom as I'm pretty new to it, but I really wanted to write some at the very least hopeful Sastiel after watching the finale, so here's a little drabble of sorts. Hope you all enjoy it!

When Castiel walks into the kitchen, Sam is found sitting in his usual spot as expected; the past week he has been staying up until dawn and waking up not much later to return to his designated chair to look for jobs on his laptop, searching for any news story with just a touch of abnormal sprinkled along its description. Ever since the angels returned to heaven and Abbadon was slain, there hasn’t been much happening, as if the earth is fed up with all the shaking at the natural order and is finally calling for a time of much needed rest. Ever since it all happened, Sam has only been able to drag Castiel on a handful of “cases”: a small nest of vampires in New Hampshire, a wendigo in Missouri, a couple kids that got their hands on the wrong kind of books in Nebraska. Compared to Sam’s usual schedule of having to constantly keep the world from falling apart, everything as of late seems tame, and for once in his life, the human acts as if this is a bad thing. 

Of course, the angel can comprehend why Sam appears so ravenous for paranormal disturbances to right, why Sam gets maybe an hour or two of sleep every night, why Sam seems so set on not giving up a second to rest and relax: it’s all because of his brother. Sam cannot close his own eyes because he sees black ones staring him down whenever he tries. Castiel had been there when Dean rose from what should have been death and attacked Sam, and if he had not been there, Sam probably would have let the demon destroy him. He didn’t even raise a finger to try and fend of the creature that was once his brother, just let it tear at him until the angel came and fought him off.

Not that Castiel was much better, exactly, for he could have just ended the demon’s life right there. He _should_ have, but a part of him knew that the ugly face underneath Dean’s skin was still Dean, though mangled and twisted beyond recognition. There is still hope to save him yet with what the brothers had discovered before, but the image still haunts Sam, making him so desperate to hide from it.

“Have you found anything new?” the angel asks. He still sounds a bit awkward trying to engage in small talk, since thousands of years spent with angels who were pretty strict on being straight-to-the-point didn’t teach him much about casual icebreakers. 

Sam jumps a little at the question. He’s so enveloped in his search that he didn’t notice his friend entering the room and sitting down beside him. “No. Every recent news story is squeaky clean. The most I can find is a tatter tot that looks like Jesus.” The man lets out a little laugh at that, but Cas can sense that the laugh is half-hearted. 

Castiel gives him a sympathetic look and tries to think of something comforting to say. Usually in situations like this, Dean would have something to say or do, even if he never expressed much emotion at the surface if he could avoid it. Humans are often pretty good at comforting one another in their times of stress, what with their cards and hugs and all of that. Sam’s sitting, so a hug would appear far too awkward to do much good with comfort. 

Blue eyes stare off as he tries to think of a good way to try and show affection to his companion. After all, before Metatron’s death a new sort of relationship had developed between him and the man he had once thought to be an abomination. Affection had become pretty prominent between the two, even if neither of them openly discussed the new developments and feelings. Castiel perks up slightly as he thinks of something that’s simple and easy to do.

He often observed on television programs and in the countless stories Metatron forced into his memory that food and beverages appear as good tokens of affection and comfort. A warm drink such as coffee is rather customary, especially considering the time of day. He recalls coffee’s effect on the distressed, too—many displeased customers used to come into the gas station acting disgruntled until they had a few sips of the substance which Cas himself always found rather bitter and unsatisfying while he still had his ability to taste it perfectly. Sam sometimes drinks the bitter liquid in the morning, so perhaps he would appreciate the gesture and understand that Castiel cares for him and is concerned for him.

He almost smiles as he stands up and moves off to the room which had been turned into a kitchen for the brothers. He could simply make a journey off to a coffee shop somewhere, but the usage of his power to travel will only drain it faster and he doesn’t have much money left over from his short period of employment. Besides, there is enough coffee in the kitchen and a semi-operational coffee maker. It shouldn’t be too difficult.

He recalls all the basics from his time at the gas station. The machine is stubborn to say the least, but not too much banging is required for it to relent and obey the angel. The mission is a success, though, for in a few minutes the pot is filled with the steaming black liquid. Castiel retrieves a mug and pours out a decent amount into it. He then remembers that Sam usually takes sugar in his coffee, so he scours the kitchen for sugar until he finds a little bag of it hidden behind a bag of greasy potato chips. Must have been Dean’s. 

He does not know how much sugar Sam puts into his coffee, so he takes a spoon and drops in a generous amount. From what he remembers, sweeter things are nicer to eat, so a larger amount will probably taste better. After the sugar is mixed in and mostly dissolved, he returns to the other room and places it on the table in front of Sam.

It takes Sam a moment to notice Cas is standing right in front of him. It takes him another moment to notice the mug, but Cas silently forgives him for making him stand there to wait. “Is that for me?” he asks, a slight ghost of a smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

Castiel nods, offering up his best attempt at a friendly smile.

“It’s okay, I’m really not that—“

“Please, I think you need to take a moment to relax. Coffee is good for relaxing,” he insists.

Sam looks up at him, and the ghost smile comes alive for a moment, creating that amused look he used to get a lot around the angel. “Alright.” He pauses as he looks up at Cas still standing there in front of him. “You want to sit with me then?”

Castiel probably would be blushing if he was capable of showing that sort of emotion on his vessel. Though, these days it wouldn’t shock him if it happened since so many emotions he once thought only belong to humans have crept up on him.

Sam smiles genuinely over at him again as he reaches for the mug. He brings the cup up to his lips and takes a sip.

It takes everything in Sam not to spit it out all over the laptop. He manages to cover his mouth and try to play it off, doing his best to swallow it all down with a smile. It’s so disgustingly sweet that he swears he must have drunk pure sugar. Cas looks so bright and eager for a good reaction, though, that he suffers through it and goes for the second sip. Jesus Christ, the taste is worse than drinking pure syrup.

With what appears to be a positive reaction, Castiel smiles over at the man. A hand goes out to reach toward him but then he stops it before Sam could notice, not wanting to cross any boundaries. Or, at least he thinks he stops it soon enough until Sam places the mug down and reaches for his hand.

“Thank you for that,” Sam says. He honestly did appreciate the gesture, even if he would never get the taste of sugar out of his mouth at this point. “That was real sw—nice of you to do.”

Cas takes in a deep breath, looking down at their intertwined hands before deciding it was time to speak up. “Sam, I worry about you. You sit around all day focusing on the job that I fear you aren’t facing your feelings, which isn’t quite a talent of your family, but with everything that you’ve been through I think that you should really take a second and—“ He stops abruptly as he feels Sam pull his hand back to himself.

“He’d want me to keep hunting. He wouldn’t want me to stop,” the long-haired man replies in a small voice.

Cas’s brow furrows as he stares into eyes that refuse to meet his gaze. “Working yourself thin would not be what he would want. Sam, you’re going to kill yourself if you bottle all of this in.”

“What else can I do?” Sam’s voice is not bitter but rather broken, a tone of man that has been shaken to his core. “He’s gone, Cas. I don’t see a sign of any demons anywhere, let alone him. He’s gone and he’s a monster and I can’t do anything about that. Meanwhile, your battery is burning out at some unknown rate and then when you’re gone I’ll have no one. I’m gonna be alone. Again.”

Sam reaches for the mug once more, figuring any sort of taste in his mouth would be a pleasant distraction.

“Sam, I am not going anywhere. I will not leave you again,” Castiel says, voice hard and certain. His eyes burn bright as he looks into Sam’s, waiting until they eventually lock with each other. “I promise you, we will find him, we will cure him, and we will find out what to do about my situation. You will not be alone. I won’t let that happen to you.”

There is a long moment of silence as the two of them simply watch one another.

“Cas…” Sam begins. A few more moments pass between them before he continues. “Thank you for the coffee. I think I’m just gonna go nap or something.” He rises from his seat, but right before he can turn towards his room Cas stands up to join him. The angel reaches to reconnect their hands and pulls Sam closer.

It’s been so long since they’ve done this—Castiel feels a little uncertain if his technique is even still decent. He hadn’t even been the one to really initiate affection most of the time, particularly this sort. He hopes his ineptitude doesn’t make the gesture less comforting as he leans up to connect his lips with Sam’s.

Sam remains still at first—whether from shock or dislike, the angel doesn’t know. Cas begins to pull back until a large, gentle hand comes up to cup his jaw and lips he hadn’t felt in so long press back against his own. Something snaps in Sam as if a dam has broken and a deluge of emotion is finally pouring out. His other hand gropes for the other’s trademark trench coat, gripping it tight and trying his hardest to keep him as close as possible. Protective arms wrap around the man as he pulls away from the kiss and rests his head on his angel’s shoulder.

“It’s going to be okay, Sam,” Castiel whispers as light fingers graze through the long locks of hair. “We will figure this out. We always figure this out.”


End file.
